The Morning After
by NamiHatake
Summary: Roman awakes with a terrible hangover and many, many questions.


Roman woke with a start, immediately regretting consciousness and squeezing his eyes tightly shut. His head was pounding and his entire body ached. He groaned and brought his hands to his temples trying to muster the strength to sit up, but the mere thought brought on a wave of nausea. This, he had to admit, was definitely the most hungover he had ever been - even rivaling the time he had been drugged _and_ hungover.

Slowly, he willed his eyes open and stared up at the ceiling. Luckily, the fan was off. His world was already spinning enough and to see something tangible match it would no doubt make him vomit as he couldn't so much as turn his head without the dull throb in his head intensifying into searing pain. That would do nothing to better his situation.

Rubbing his temples and wondering just how much he must have had, it dawned on him that there was much more to wonder about. He remembered absolutely nothing of the previous night, not even where he'd started drinking. Roman felt like death, but the moment he registered the soft sound of breathing beside him, he managed a grin in spite of himself. It was safe to assume, he mused, that he had had one hell of an evening.

Glancing around, wincing when the slightest turn of his head proved to indeed be much more than he was capable of at the moment, he tried to determine where he was. The hotel room's stationary ceiling fan wasn't giving him any more clues than the drab, pastel yellow wallpaper in his peripheral had to offer and the dark hair and curvy outline of a petite woman lying beside him only posed more questions. His curiosity about his endeavors the previous night were aroused exponentially.

How the devil had he gotten Cinder into bed with him? He closed his eyes, quickly opening them again as the dizziness turned out to be easier to cope with staring at the ceiling. He needed water. Soon. And he was going to have to get it, himself.

He knew better than to expect help from that particular woman. Depending on the state she awoke in, she might very well kill him the moment she saw him. If he was lucky and her memory was more intact than his, he knew his chances would be better. He smirked as he pictured her recounting to him all the things he had likely to done to her and how well he had them, more amused by how begrudgingly she would have to admit that his confidence was warranted in that particular area.

Taking a deep breath, Roman forced himself to sit up. Groaning again as the dizziness, headache, and another wave of nausea rose in his stomach, he slumped forward and took a moment to lament not recalling the moments that would have made his current, miserable state worth bearing. After what seemed like an hour, but he would wager was only a few minutes, he slid himself back to lean against the headboard. Pulling his knees towards him and propping an arm on them, he let his other hand fall to his side and his fingers grasp a handful of thick, silky black hair.

He paused and frowned, glancing down at the woman lying next to him. It most certainly was not Cinder. His head still swam, but he wanted to know who she was, if not his employer. Her frame was just as slight, but her hair was much thicker, longer, and wavy. And she had...ears...feline... _Faunus ears_ …

 _Oh God…_

Roman's wretched hangover quickly took a backseat as the small shred of a conscience he possessed rattled him to his core. He stared in disbelief at the young girl, his mind reeling. Of all the criminal acts he had committed, he sincerely felt this one was an all-time low. The throb in his head that ceased to dull, the aches in his body, the sickness in the pit of his stomach, all of it seemed like karma, now.

The girl began to stir and Roman realized his fingers were still tangled in her hair. Wincing at every movement, he carefully tried to retract his hand as startling her - well...startling her any more than what was he was dreading when she woke up to a strange bedfellow wouldn't be...wise. He cringed at the thought of her inevitable panic and cursed himself for being in too poor a state to escape. He was barely able to hold his head up. To try to make it to the door was out of the question and even were he able to get that far, there would still be the matter of finding and putting on his pants, a monumental, thankless task unto itself.

A small moan escaped the girl's lips as she rolled onto her back and stretched. Roman wanted to look away, to respect any shred of innocence he'd left her with, but the blotches on her skin, the nail marks, the teeth marks… He drew his knees in closer and let his forehead fall to rest on the arm draped over them. The pounding in his head showed no hope of subsiding as he chided himself and glared down that the part of him he blamed most for the whole mess. To his surprise, he found his own flesh mirrored hers in an absurd number of places. With a slight grin in spite of himself and the immortality of it all, Roman couldn't help but regret how little he could remember. It must have been a hell of a fun night.

Before he had time to process this new discovery or dwell too long on the jail time it likely warranted, he felt the bed shift slightly as the girl sat up. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to brace himself for her reaction, knowing the volume alone would be unbearable. When he heard nothing, he turned to look at her, grimacing when the movement caused another mercilessly sharp ache in his head.

As expected, he was met with a look of shock. One hand covered her mouth and the other clutched the sheet she instinctively held up to cover herself. Her amber eyes were wide with what he could only assume was horror and disgust.

It took all the strength he could muster to try to speak to her, "Blake, I-" he started, but she cut him off by dropping the sheet and lightly running a hand over his shoulder.

Either he was dead or crazy or having the strangest dream. He blinked at her a few times, unsure of how to react and unable to look away.

"Roman, I'm so sorry," she said timidly, moving her hand from his shoulder up to his hair and gingerly combing her fingers through it. His confusion and apprehension seemed to render her just as much by surprise. She pouted slightly, and asked, "Are you alright? I didn't realize I had been so...how did you put it...animalistic?"

She blushed and feigned indignity which turned into a rye smile. She looked a bit embarrassed, but pleased with herself nonetheless. Roman weakly held up a hand and she pulled hers away. He wanted to ask her why. Why she was there, why she seemed to want to be. But he also wanted to forcibly expel the remaining alcohol still churning in his stomach.

"I'll get you some water."

Too sick to move and too confused to protest, he simply stared blankly at her. She shook her head for a moment before starting to laugh. The sound, though soft and musical, was ear-splitting. He groaned and she laughed more.

"Stop," he pleaded, but she didn't seem to hear him. She instead got up and walked away, returning moments later with a glass of water.

"You don't remember anything, do you?" she said, holding the glass where he could see it and prompting him to drink. He couldn't raise his head so she did it for him. He groaned and did his best to show some shred of dignity as she tilted the glass for him. Despite how dehydrated he was, his body wanted nothing to do with the water. Just a few sips and his nausea became too much. She seemed to notice and tried her best to help him up and to the restroom.

With some effort he convinced her to leave him. She stifled more laughter, still unbothered by their situation for some reason he couldn't fathom. After a bout of profuse vomiting, he managed to clean himself up. He felt no better, but was getting to a point where he was numbed by the pain just enough to push past it. He opened the door, a barrage of questions swimming in his still alcohol addled mind.

To his dismay, she and her scattered clothing were gone. All that was left was a note that read,

' _Thanks for crashing my birthday party.'_

Roman collapsed on the bed, his brief reprieve of relief immediately overtaken by his infuriating lack of recollection. Of all the nights to have drunk away, why did it have to be that one?


End file.
